


147 - Razorblade (by The Strokes)

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Reader-Insert, Songfic NonCatfish, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 10:23:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17405162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “Can you do a fic based on the song Razorblade by The strokes?” from @isle-of-flightless-josh and “something where the girl doesn’t really do serious relationships often and dates around and van falls for her.”





	147 - Razorblade (by The Strokes)

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment when you became the person you never wanted to be; probably sometime after all the hurt though. A few good years, that's all you got. A few good years after high school where you liked life and people and romance and sunshine. You were the person you were born to be. Happy, first and foremost. Kind and gentle and loving. It's not to say you stopped being all those things, but you certainly stopped dishing out the warmth. Getting your heart broke is what did it. In the wake of a relationship you thought would last forever, you found the only effective coping strategy. Retreat.

You built walls that were impossible for people to climb. No new friends. No new relationships. It wasn't worth it. You had your little social group; the ones that had been by your side forever. That's all you needed. Love, see, was too much like a razorblade. If you picked it up and played with it, someone was bound to get hurt. No point in that. But eventually, the isolation did your head in. So, you ventured out into the world again. Except you were different. 

You strung people along, and when they got too close you kicked them to the curb. Tightened that noose. Your feelings were more important than theirs. The moment you realised that is what you'd been telling yourself, was the moment your sunshine years self didn't recognise you anymore. And that epiphany only came after bringing Van McCann to his knees.

Van wasn't completely new to your world. Your brother was friends with Bondy, so you'd heard stories about him and crossed paths at parties and shows. His attention was new though. The catalyst for which was your violent reaction to a guy in a bar slapping your friend's ass. She squealed out a "What the fuck?!" and spun around. You saw the whole thing happen, stormed across the small room, and threw a punch with your thumb on the outside, like you were taught. The guy fell more out of shock than the physical impact. The bar went silent, and not even security moved. Van's laughter broke the silence, and the guy was thrown out. You returned your friend to the arms of her girlfriend and took a breath.

"I've got to buy you a drink after that," Van said appearing out of nowhere. "Y/N, right?"

That’s how it started. From there Van became your drinking buddy, which was a slippy slope to fuck buddies. You didn't mean to make him fall in love with you. You had tried to be somewhat honest. More honest than you were with the others, at least. The road to hell is paved with good intentions though. There were a million moments you could have explicitly said 'I'm never going to love you' or 'You know this is just a casual thing, right?' The words were never spoken and instead Van filled the quiet of your life with his singing and laughing and ridiculous stories. He was the best distraction from the heartbreak yet.

Then, the inevitable mushy feelings surfaced. He was too sweet. Too kind.

You were laying stomach-down on your bed, eyes closed, listening to the vinyl's scratches hidden in the notes. Van was on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him, back to the wall. He'd brought over a bunch of records for you to listen to. The assumption you'd made was that he would drop them off and leave, but of course he didn't. He was quiet though, so you let him stay. You could feel him watching you.

"Y/N?" he said in a voice that wasn't a whisper but wasn't brave enough to cut through the music entirely.

"Mmm?"

"Can I come up there with you?"

You opened your eyes and turned your head to look at him. He was being serious. "Why are you asking?"

"What do ya mean?"

"You're asking permission?"

"Yeah… 'cause you're in your own little world there. Kind of always are," he said. Your own little world. You patted the bed and he moved to lay on his back next to you. "You smell good,"

"Okay," you replied. He grinned, and you looked away so you'd not have to be reminded of his stupid vampire teeth or stupider dimples.

"Do you know what else I like about you?"

"I don't care,"

"I like that you just do your own thing, you know? It don't matter what other people think of you, you just keep doing whatever makes you happy." You looked at him again. His first mistake was assuming you were happy. His second was implying that people thought of you, and probably in a negative sense.

"What do people think of me, Van?" you asked, your voice low and warning. He smirked nervously and looked at you. Thinking for a second, he concluded a shrug would suffice. A third mistake. "Do people talk about me?"

"A bit. Maybe. I don't know,"

"And when they talk about me, are they nice?"

"When I talk about you I'm nice," he offered with a smile. You looked at him with a blank expression. "Okay. I don’t know, Y/N. You just… Get people talking,"

"You're going around in circles,"

"Okay, so they think you're a bitch. Happy?" You could hear it in his voice that he didn't want to say it. "But I don't think that. I just think… you're different to other people. Nobody really gets you, and I know what that's like and I like it. You know?"

"You should probably go, Van," you said and turned your head back to face the record player. "You can take your records if you want." You were being harsh. He'd not done anything wrong.

"Y/N. I didn’t… I meant it's a good thing? I like-"

"Van. Stop. Just go."

Three long seconds, then he stood up and walked to the door. "I'm sorry," he said. When you didn't reply he left.

A week and a half went by and Van left you alone. In actuality, you were not alone. You messaged all the people who could take up space in your bed and make it seem like you felt anything other than bitterness. Then, out to breakfast with your brother, Bondy strolled past. Your brother called him over and he sat. They chatted, then Bondy turned to you.

"So… You finally tell Van to fuck off?" he asked.

"What?"

"He's been moping about. Figured you got bored of him,"

"What's that supposed to mean?" you spat back. Bondy raised his hands defensively and your brother laughed, amused that someone was calling you out.

"It means that you cycle through people faster than the weather changes around 'ere. Van lasted the longest, but,"

"I didn't do anything. He called me a bitch,"

"He what?!" you brother said, smile dropping. Bondy put an arm around his shoulder in an act meant to calm.

"No, mate, not what happened. Van tried to tell her that he liked her, 'cause she's different. And she took it the wrong way. Think the fuckin' muppet really likes her. Probably the only one out of all them that does. But now she's fucked that up," Bondy said, watching you. 

He had spoken to Van about you then. But like Van, he wasn't intentionally being horrible. They were both just honest, and the truth of the matter wasn't nice. Bondy was right. You used people. You had intended Van to be one of those people. You deserved to be reminded of that.

That night you sat on your bed and stared at your phone for ten minutes before making the decision to not call Van. He may have liked you, but he deserved better. Leaving him alone meant he could extinguish the crush and move on. Something you were doomed to never be able to do.

…

Usually, the bar was only busy enough that it vibrated with beautiful human life. It was never that busy that it was hard to move from bar to seats to bathroom to pool table. You literally couldn't even see the jukebox over the heads of all the people. And, to make it worse, most of the people were in stupid football jerseys. Concluding there was a big match, you considered going somewhere else, but all your friends were having fun and one of them was making out with someone somewhere in the room. You didn't want to spoil anyone's night.

As you turned away from the bar holding three bottles, you came to a complete halt. Van was standing in front of you. He was in a bright red jersey that made the soft rosiness of his cheeks more obvious, which in turn drew attention to his freckles. Instead of saying anything, he sucked in his bottom lip and chewed it. Assuming it was an accidental meeting, you moved to step around him.

"Sorry," you said.

"Y/N?" You stopped moving and looked at him. "I'm sorry I called you a bitch,"

"Van, you didn't-" you sighed and looked around the room for a moment. You spotted his friends on the couches, watching the game on a big screen television. "Why's Bondy here? He hates football?"

"So do you,"

"I'm here with friends,"

"So's he,"

"Did he tell you I said you called me a bitch?" you asked. You could tell by the way Bondy glanced over at you that the answer was yes. Van's nod confirmed it. "I don't… I get what you were saying. I’m sorry I was mean. I just…"

"You're hurt. I know. Your brother told me. He said you used to be happier, and then you got your heartbroken and now you're…"

"A bitch?" you suggested with a smirk. He smiled and shrugged, not wanting to commit to that again. "I am sorry, Van,"

"Me too,"

"Yeah… I've got to get these to my friends. I'll see you around, yeah?" you said quickly, figuring out that a reconciliation was an invitation for more. You stepped back and could see Van realise you were leaving.

"Wait. Do you-"

"See ya, Van."

Turning your back on him was hard. Harder than it should have been if you really didn't like like him. Back at your table you friend watched you down half your drink. Her eyebrows knitted together in worry, and she looked around the room. Her attention was drawn to Van's friends when they cheered. Larry's voice was so recognisable, even in the busy bar. Her eyes lingered on Van, then she looked back at you.

"Y/N… Have you considered maybe just, like, giving him an actual chance?"

"Chance at what?"

She rolled her eyes, annoyed that you'd bother pretending with her. "Chance at loving you. He seems like a good person, and he isn't just trying to use you for sex. I know it's a two way street, but all the others, Y/N, they aren't really looking out for your best interests, you know? Van seems like an actual quality person and I think you proper like him,"

"I don't,"

"Right. Sure. Because this," she waved her hands at you, "is how a normal person acts. Someone with no emotion invested in the situation. You just don't want to get hurt again and that's totally understandable. But you can't walk around being a cunty ice queen forever."

Your lips parted in shock, and your other friends laughed. "Cunty ice queen?!"

"Yeah. Fucking deal with it. You know it's true. Just let him take you on a date, for fuck's sake. I'm sick of him watching you all the goddamn time and I'm sick your moody teenage lovesick bullshit. Date. Him."

For a moment you wondered why you had surrounded yourself with brutally honest people. Most of them lacked tact. However, what they lacked in that they made up for in authentic care. Your friend was right, and you knew it. Feeling Van's eyes follow you around the room all night would have confirmed it too. He wouldn't watch if he didn't like you, and you wouldn't have noticed or cared if you didn't.

…

Phone calls were the worst, but you didn't trust that if you messaged Van that your tone wouldn't be blunt and forced. His phone rung three times before he picked up with a happy hello, then your name.

"Hey, Van," you replied. A couple of seconds ticked by.

"Did you… need something? You okay?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah. I'm fine. I was just wondering if you were doing anything on Saturday for Record Store Day?"

You could hear his sharp intake of breath, then counted another couple of seconds. "No. No plans. I know this place that is doing a thing though. Cupcakes and stacks of vinyl in. Maybe we could go together?"

Bless him for asking you out in a phone call you'd made to ask him out.

"Yeah. That sounds good. I can meet you there,"

"No. No. Don't be silly, babe. I'll pick you up. 10 too early?"

"No. That's good,"

"Okay. Epic. I'll see you then," he said and you could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yep. Bye, Van,"

"See ya, Y/N.”

It was too easy. Almost like the God's were conspiring to make it happen.

Van was wearing a hoodie when you opened the door on Saturday. You had to hold back a gasp. So cozy. So comfy. So cute. You'd only ever seen the same line up of structured jackets - the expensive long grey one, the black velvet, the black denim. A hoodie. He was probably aiming for lowkey; trying to not stress you out and make you run again. You could imagine him standing in front of Larry presenting the outfit. He'd say something beautiful and dumb like 'see, nobody wears a hoodie on a date, so she’ll not freak out' and Larry shaking his head as he shovelled more cereal into his mouth. You let Van in as you located your keys and threw them into your bag. You tried to not stare as you followed him out to his car. His hair was freshly washed too. Fuck. Fuuuuuck.

The car ride was quiet, but easy. You listened to the radio and flicked between stations; only stopping when Van's face stopped being all scrunched up in distaste. "You hate everything!" you laughed at him.

"Just can't stand that autotuned processed garbage," he replied.

"Van! This is a banger!"

He shook his head and swatted your hand away to change the station himself.

At the record store, there was a line. Van took your hand and walked you to the door, where a guy in a In Hearts Wake band shirt was standing. His face lit up when he saw Van. "Mate!" he called and opened his arms for a hug. He ushered you inside, and people in the line looked pissed.

"One of the many perks of being in a semi-successful band," Van joked.

"Not complaining," you replied. A girl was roller skating around the store with a tray of cupcakes. They were chocolate with vanilla icing and little records made of sugar on top. You ate yours as you trailed along behind Van while he systematically greeted every staff member working. He introduced you to each, but your mouth was full of cake, so you just waved and smiled. Done with his 'everyone loves me and I love everyone' routine, you and Van started to flick through the boxes of records.

It was a good idea for a date. The vinyl was something to focus on. The other people in the store were a buffer. It took hours to pour through everything, and when you were finally at the counter with your stack of special editions and rare second-hand finds, Van shifted from one foot to the other.

"What?" you asked him. He made a face.

"Do you think I should have got the Van Morrison?"

"You said you already had it?"

"Can't remember if Dad does though?" He thought for a second more. "I should. I should get it. Quick. You're little and can duck through the crowds. Go get it for me?" he asked. You nodded and moved quickly. When you returned to the counter Van was gone. The girl held her hand out for the record you were holding.

"It was a ploy. He's paid for all your vinyl. Said to tell you he's out the front," she grinned. You nodded once and left the store.

Van was smoking on the street corner, holding a bag on his hip like a baby. He took a step back when he saw you approach.

"Please don't yell at me,"

"Van. There's hundreds of dollars worth of vinyl in there. I can't let you buy that for me," 

"Yeah. I know you can't. That's why I tricked ya, see. Come on. Let's go get food,"

"Van," you repeated, not moving. Van sighed and stood in front of you.

"I ain't trying to buy your love, Y/N. I just… I have more money than I need. Let me do this, yeah? Doesn't have to mean anything more than you want it to."

You watched him put his smoke out and look around. A group of kids walked past with the special edition copy of The Balcony in their hands. One of them looked back at Van and stopped dead in their tracks. Van smiled at the kid and nodded. You gave them space to fuss over Van and have him sign their brand new records. When they were gone Van's attention was back on you.

"What if I don't know what I want it to mean?" you asked, picking the conversation up from where it left off.

"That's okay. We can figure that out. After lunch though. How do you feel about burritos?" he asked with a warm and reassuring smile. You followed him back to the car where you sat nursing the bag of records, also like a baby.

…

Slowly, inch by inch, step by step, the walls that you had built in the ruins of the heartbreak lowered. Van joked that even if they were completely demolished, you'd still have a moat filled with alligators and stinging jellyfish for people to have to wade through before they knew you. Your friend agreed, and mumbled, "cunty ice queen again." But, it was Van's honesty, his warmth, and his persistence that made him immune to anything living in those murky depths. He walked on water.

He told you that there wouldn't be any more sex until you both knew where you stood and how you felt. That took a little over a month to figure out. It was a month of easy dates and Van giving you space and you finally learning how to be affectionate again. Van's hoodie's helped with that one. 

The day you worked it all out was a stormy Tuesday morning. The wind rattling the shutters woke you. Van was next to you, dead to the world. You watched him sleep. His lips were parted and half his face smooshed against the pillow; he looked all childlike. There was sleep under his eyes, and you leant over to brush it away. He woke up and looked at you. You knew. Of course, his feelings were important. More important, in fact, than your past heartbreak. 

"Van?"

"Yeah, honey,"

"I love you."

Any remnants of sleepy haze burst in the air like a popped bubble. His blue eyes focused on you.

"You su-"

"I'm sure," you quickly confirmed. "I love you. I'm in love with you."

He grinned from ear to ear and rolled on top of you. His hands went straight to the ribcage to tickle you, and his lips pressed kisses across your face and neck and chest. You giggled and tried to push him away.

"I wiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn," he called in a sing-song voice. "Ha ha. Made you loveeeeeee meeeeeeeeeeeeeeee."

Like many dissimilar pairings - peanut butter and jelly, Romeo and Juliet, The Amity Affliction and Lana Del Rey's Born to Die - you were perfect for each other. It just took a while to figure it out.


End file.
